


When I'm Gone

by Rachel_Lu



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beth Dies, Character Death, Confessions, Crying, Daryl Has Issues, Daryl Needs To Use His Words, Daryl Needs a Hug, F/M, Flowers, I'm Sorry, Implied Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Men Crying, POV Daryl, Wakes & Funerals, Walkers (Walking Dead), crossbow-wielding Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Lu/pseuds/Rachel_Lu
Summary: Daryl realizes Beth was right all along*NO CANNON DIVERGENCE*





	

**Author's Note:**

> To those of you who are here for Ten and Rose... Not today, I'm trying something different for literally the first time! (Although your stories will be updated soon, never fear)
> 
> I've never written Daryl/Beth but I love them with a passion so here's what I think happened after the Episode that shall Not be Named. I might write a Fix it of Beth's whole situation if those goes well. Not sure, though! This is just an experiment, so bear with me :)
> 
> Can this be considered a drabble? I don't know. It's not very long, I was just having a lot of feelings.

_You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._

She had been right.   _Damn it,_ she had been right.  He hadn't wanted to think about her dying. Didn't know why.  He knew if he disappeared from the group nobody would say anything, so he went, trudging through the leaves and brush to sit down heavily against a tree.

Was it unsafe? Yeah. But he couldn't be bothered to give a shit, not after all this.  He fumbled for a cigarette,fighting against fingers covered in dirt and grime and her blood, still.  He stared at his hand, the cigarette looking pure white against it.  

He was pissed. Probably more pissed than he'd ever been.  There were things he thought about, when he thought about her.  Would she run to him or Maggie first, when they met up again?  If he offered her a smoke, would she take it?  Or was she too pure for that?  She wasn't too pure for moonshine, he knew that now.

Those memories, weirdly enough to him, were the clearest.  Playing I Never. He wished he hadn't yelled at her. 

She'd looked so hurt.  He'd probably hurt her when he'd wrestled her in front of him to hold his crossbow.  Might've bruised her.  But he'd never seen it, so he didn't think about it.  He set his jaw and lit up the cigarette, smoking it like it was his last, like he had something to prove.

The others had moved on without him. He  _dared_ them to find him.  He put the cigarette out and set his feet apart, his forearms on his elbows.  She'd looked clean.  Cleaner than this at least.  But she had scars on her face.  A cast on her arm.  Had that been his fault or theirs?  Immediately, he put the blame on them.  He would have  _never_ laid a hand on her like that, even when he was drunk, and he knew that he hadn't broken her wrist or scratched her face.  The thought that someone else had made him feel sick. 

He'd imagined holding her again.  But not like that.

And that was exactly when the tears started.  He choked on them at first, trying to push them back, but eventually he just leaned forward and let them come, dripping to the ground in front of him, cleaning the dirt off the leaves there. 

Daryl had  _never_ been a romantic. He'd never been good at it, and he hadn't wanted to be.  Until her.  Until he told her that her  _boyfriend_ was dead and she'd hugged him and he'd felt something else.  

And the last time he'd cried, she'd been there. Because he hadn't thought he'd been good enough, that he could've done something and didn't.  Her cheek pressed against his vest and her arms around his waist.  He didn't know how to respond to that, so he hadn't.  And he  _should've._

He looked up at the sky, tears still blurring his vision.  It wasn't fair.  The bitch that killed her shouldn't have had her damn hand on her gun.  Beth had acted out of passion, which was what she was good at, what was, maybe, the best damn thing about her.  It kept her alive for so long, after all. 

He hung his head.  Just when she had started to fight.  She didn't want to die. She  _used_ to, and he'd rolled his eyes at it, at the way she was wasting her life.  And then she took advantage of it and they  _killed her._

It could've been hours, or minutes, that he sat there, until his head throbbed, and he wished he could have a drink or some aspirin at least.  He wiped off his hands on the rag hanging from his belt.  He didn't want her blood on his hands.  He wasn't sure that anything had hurt this bad before, even though his brother was dead. 

His brother was an asshole.

Beth hadn't deserved the death of an asshole. 

But at least she hadn't been a walker.  That would have been worse.

He got to his feet, hoisting his crossbow over his shoulder, trying to pretend that his mouth didn't taste like smoke and regret.  He wiped his nose and sniffed, trudging off to where he'd last seen the rest of the group. They were gonna bury her, but they weren't gonna start without him. 

The walker coming out from nowhere startled him, but it was a welcome distraction. He pulled his knife and plunged it through the walker's skull. The sick noises coming out of it stopped, but Daryl followed it to the ground, stabbing it over and over until the discolored blood was splattered on his face and he fell back, blinking to keep the tears from coming up again. If he kept going, he was never gonna stop. 

He had a funeral to go to, though, and some part of his admittedly feral brain registered flowers.   _Flowers.  She deserved flowers._

So he picked her purple flowers that were on the edge of the forest.  They looked like something she'd like.  (He didn't know that they were weeds, but if Beth had been there to accept them, she wouldn't have told him that they were).

He clutched the flowers in his hands, and made his way to the group, where they stood around Beth's grave. They all looked up at him, and Rick gave him a reassuring nod. Daryl stepped forward, not letting his face change at all as he threw a handful of dirt on Beth. It made his stomach twist to watch everyone else do the same.  But they did, and Tyreese spoke over her grave.  Rick kept staring at Daryl, as though making sure he was alright.

Well, he wasn't alright, and Daryl had a feeling it was gonna stay that way for a long time.

There was nothing else for him to do, as Glenn led Maggie away, as she was crying hysterically, and the rest of the group disbanded.  Rick clapped Daryl on the shoulder as he passed.

"Take all the time you need," he said.  Daryl nodded.

He stepped to where Beth was buried, covered from view, never to be seen again. He'd remember this place. He'd come back. "Love you," he grumbled, and threw the handful of purple weeds on her grave.

_You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon..._

And he did.


End file.
